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At this command, a projectile the size of a tin can plummeted straight from the tripod racing through the concrete, gravel, and soil which comprised the layers of the vacated road before them.

“Five…ten…fifteen meters,” called the infantryman as the ground penetrating radar cut through the earth with ease, reaching out towards its final destination. “Twenty meters; destination reached and the radar has activated.” Immediately upon its activation, the advanced sensors within the radar began registering the naturally undetectable vibrations that course through the planet's crust. “Vibrations detected. Radar indicates that there are three contacts, 70 kilometers from our position.”

We have time, he thought to himself.

“Set up the stationary mounted weapons in those two buildings at the northwest corner,” he ordered, “and another one in that building on the northeast side of the street. Maintain radio silence.”

“Yes sir!”

One-by-one the teams moved silently towards their destinations garbed in cinereous camo cloaks, helmets, weather worn boots, insulated gloves and goggles. Four entered what was left of a ruinous building still standing on the northwest corner of the street, while three others took positions in the remnants of a building a mere fifty meters away on the northeast side.

Pressing a button on his belt, he instantly interlinked his com’s devices to the ones wired in Savarin Scout Squad’shelmets. “Everyone; the radar indicates that our contacts are now 23 kilometers away. Can anyone see what’s coming?”

“Alpha in position; no contacts can be seen through our scopes.”

“Beta in position; weapons are armed.”

“15 kilometers out,” he heard Jerry say.

“Gamma, are you in position yet? We need a visual confirmation with the long-range telescopic imager.”

“Six kilometers, till they reach our position.”

“Gamma reporting...in…setting up…imager now.”

“One kilometer,” said Jerry with urgency in his tone now.

“Gamma, what…”

It happened in an instant. Missiles roared towards the northeast building and in a series of spectacular explosions, the remnants of the once sturdy structure crumbled; fire racing from the wreckage. The concussive force blasted Jerry and Commander off their feet into a nearby storefronts structural glass window.

No more than heartbeat later, another salvo of missiles raced as quick as a lightning head-on into what remained of the once might construct. The second detonations forcefulness toppled what remained straight back into the buildings behind it. Residue and debris spewed outwards from the sites, covering the area in a thick layer of plascrete dust.

Jerry. Blinking he arose from where he had fallen and looked down at the bloodied cuts to his left forearm which he had received after colliding with the window. Jerry, he thought. Surveying thearea, he saw that the radar station had not sustained too much damage from the blast. It was toppled over with one of its three legs bent-in-half, but it still looked operational. Good. I can still send out a spike.

As he raised himself up onto the windows ledge, he saw what now remained of Jerry. It appeared that the force had knocked him clean off his feet too, but instead of falling through the structural glass like him, Jerry had been driven by the blast directly into the concrete support, head-first. His now jellied cranium seeped from where his helmet had cracked against the wall. One leg broken to the point where the bone was protruding from his left pant leg and his right arm shredded by broken glass, Jerry’s cinereous camo clock now sported the colors of crimson as his wounds began to gush with strength. Four men down in seconds, he thought.

“Alpha…Beta” he said breathlessly, “still alive?

“Aye sir and ’tis a couple of beasts we now look upon.”

What? Never-mind clear your head, he thought. “What the hell hit us?”

His men did not have to answer. Directly north, a Mad-Cat accompanied by two Koshi escorts stood before them. The lumbering leviathan’s missile pods glowed with heat; steam jetting from where the freshly launched munitions had met their mark, obliterating the northeastern structure where Gamma had been positioned.

“Hold your fire!” he called. “They haven’t seen…” But it was too late. The Koshi on the Mad-Cat’s right side launched with a deafening scream of its jump jets straight into the air, while the other charged down the road towards his position. The Mad-Cat roared its war-horn, emanating a confident forthcoming doom for the remaining members of the Savarin Scout Squad.

The squads in the northwest building did not even wait for his order and open fired upon both of the mechanical monstrosities. Savarins’ carry some of the finest technologically advanced battle equipment ever produced from the planets forges and his men were armed with a mounted destructor cannon and three precision sniper rifles.

With a roar, the cannon unleashed its fury straight at the oncoming Koshi. With a graceful pivot, the pilot avoided a direct hit to the cockpit while shaking the shot into the mech’s right arm. He grabbed the tripod preparing it for another task raising it upright just in time to witness the arm fall. In that same instant, he heard the chorus of the precision sniper rifles explosive rounds detonating off the airborne one’s armor. Grabbing a canister from Jerry’s shredded side pouch, he turned and saw the oncoming Koshi’s center torso erupt. He looked upwards towards the third story of the northeast building thinking, the destructor cannon has worked magnificently. “Nice shot,” he called out. With that the rampaging machine fell to its knees, face-first onto the pavement pulverizing the cockpit against the road's surface.

Now looking towards the sky, he noticed that the airborne Koshi was now plummeting downward about halfway through its initial jump trajectory. With a ‘sigh of relief,’ he reached for his binoculars and scanned the Koshi’s cockpit. Barely visible, he counted seven perfect holes in the cockpit’s glass which were now stained with human viscus.

“Move out, now!” A few minutes later, he saw that only two of his men had appeared from the ruinous buildings entrance headed towards his position.

“Jacob. Alexandra. What the hell are…?”

“Go. Send…spike...will…cover.”

Cover? Just as the thought formed he saw the Mad-Cat pelted by a red blast of energy from the destructor cannon. “Move men, move,” he screamed at them. Then to his horror, he saw the Mad-Cat unleash a blinding light from its ablaze left arm. With a piercing scream, the torrent of energy beams penetrated Jacob and Alexandra’s position atomizing them and the ruins upper story in seconds. As the remains crumbled in on themselves, the Mad-Cat let out a mind shattering wail from its war-horn. After the deafening cry waned, he noticed that it had turned its attention to his men who were just meters from his position in the road. With a twitch, the Mad-Cat charged, bellowing as it came. Without even a thought, he pulled the mag-locked plasma carbine over his shoulder and unleashed a concentrated blast of searing plasma straight at the Mad-Cat’s cockpit.

So perversely focused on massacring the men futilely retreating, Avan Thuel failed to notice the white-hot plasma projectile until it was too late. Without a moment to spare, Thuel begrudgingly pressed the ‘eject’ button. His seat whirred skyward, away from his precious battle machine.

Upon impact the plasma engulfed the cockpit in a blue and white colored gelatinous splatter, now melting it away. “Sir,” called one of the scouts as they approached, “Nice shot.” Upon hearing this, Commander Oliver raised his visor and watched his handy-work start to melt away the Mad-Cat’s upper right torso. “Thanks but, we aren’t out of the woods yet.” Pushing a button on the tripod, it launched another canister downwards through the obliterated road which now lay before them. Okay, he thought. Now we have work to do.

“The spike has been sent,” said Commander Oliver. “Let’s move out before he lands.”

Together they opened a sewer grate and one-by-one the remaining scouts descended into the smiley stench filled tunnels. With a last glance at his handy-work, it was with a malevolent smile upon his face that Commander Oliver lowered his visor and followed his men into the depths below.

EDIT: Added the story in the spoiler as well. Appreciate any comments!

Spoiler

“He’s a goddamn coward…” spat a weary voice.

My vision of the dank cell floated lazily around as I moved my head. After a moment I understood the man’s words. Pirates.Confinement. Things were clearing up. “Alive” seemed to be the minimum requirement of our captivity. Alive we would soon find a new life of slavery on the Periphery. Dead, well, less profit but these pirates were unconcerned about the loss. Physical abuse was constant but sometimes it culminated with…

That’s what...Boyd...Boyd was talking about:

The Pit.

The cell door opened with a groan. The first man in was unconscious; thrown to the floor with a dull smack. In the dim light I could see reddened skin all covered in burns. His combat suit was in tatters and matched Boyd’s – light grey with purple, green and white insignia: Marik.

Next in was a guard armed with a compact automatic weapon slung at the ready followed by a tall man. The tall man’s uniform was crisp and decorated with a various medals. I only recognized one but the rest featured a mixture of crests from the various Inner Sphere Houses. The uniform itself was a “Kuritan" style officer's dress uniform with a large patch over the side-abdomen. This was the pirate leader, “Red” Johhne Manes. I was remembering more now. Manes was no soldier and this wasn’t his uniform or his medals. It was part of his fantasy.

We’d met him long after we were taken from our firebase. His thugs raided with a small force of Light Mechs that melted our security contingent with lasers and machine guns. Soon after, an APC crashed the perimeter and spilled a couple teams into our compound.

Our main defense, two 20-ton Wasp Mechs, were easily surrounded and forced to shut down. I was stationed there as a comms specialist with a private security company called Evandrus and was in the chow hall when the alarms sounded. A few of us were able to hold out in the base for a while but in the end a flashbang grenade rolled across the floor, followed by a flood of boots, and a crack on the skull. I awoke in this cell...weeks ago? A month? Months?

We’d finally met Manes some time after our arrival. He wouldn’t be found on the field taking captives and loot. He could be found in his Orion. Where do you get a pristine 75-ton machine like that? It was already a classic design to begin with...Manes eked out a profit for his merry band but to further his MechWarrior fantasy a few of his captives were permitted to take the field against him in The Pit. There Manes would let them ‘fight for their freedom’. If any returned, they died of injuries a day or two later.

Manes. He was a goddamn coward.

“Was that you talking?” he said kneeling down and pulling a photo from his jacket. My photo...of my fiance, Lily. He began reading.

“‘Go get’m Tiger. Love, your Tiger Lily.’ Cute girl - I found this next to your ID with your address,” he said. He looked up to his armed lackey and laughed.

“Maybe we should take a little R&R in the core worlds.”

“I...will kill you,” I managed through my fear.

“Yea?“ He stood up and delivered a savage kick. “Brave talk now but how about a trip to The Pit? And then I think I will visit your little Tiger Lily,” he said and threw the photo onto the damp floor.

“Aw, it’s easy, see. You have this trigger to fire all your guns. This one will fire them one at a time…”

Atop a rickety scaffolding, some shaved-headed brute was giving me a half-ass tutorial on piloting and gunnery. I gulped water from a steel canteen cup as I looked at the behemoth in front of me. The Mech had a giant right shoulder – which I surmised gave the 50-ton Hunchback it’s name. Various lenses were protruding at slight angles and a couple extra tubular contraptions were bolted on the outside with wires wildly flowing back into the hunch.

The bay was cluttered with seeming piles of junk and smelled like burning ozone. Welding could be heard crackling somewhere in the large hanger. I looked across the bay out into The Pit.

There were several medium size aircraft strewn about as ‘cover’ and I could make out four dropship armor plates leaning together as a big makeshift building in the distance. Just outside to the right of the hangar door, a tall concrete wall ran off into the horizon. It spanned nearly out of view before cutting left, and then left again, to enclose the entire arena.

For a moment I thought I saw a metallic glint in the sky, far, far off….

I was shaken from my observations as a large helmet was dropped over my head. Instinctively, I tried to raise my hands but the iron cuffs stopped me and dug into my wrists. After a moment, the faceplate blinked on and I could hear the muffled voice of my instructor. He was guiding me into the cockpit and plugging things in. He half closed the hatch, propping it with a brick, and leaned in to unlock my cuffs. He wriggled the rest of the way out and closed the hatch.

The cockpit was drowned in cigarette butts and beer cans. Among the trash I located the various toggles and powered up the Hunchback according to my brief tutorial. The fusion engine emitted a low drone that crescendoed from a deep bass to a strangely calming hum.

BattleMechs were truly a marvel of modern warfare; merging machine with man. Every government has sought bigger, better soldiers and this was the final product. Firepower to level a city that wasn't piloted so much as worn like a second skin. I had never used a neurohelmet before but the theory is they connect you to the Mech via your own neural network. You use your body's own natural balancing instincts and the helmet translates that to commands for your Mech.

I ‘walked’ and the helmet translated that impulse. The Hunchback began lurching forward and I could tell there was something wrong with the leg. The neurohelment was pumping all sorts of information into my mind from diagnostics to weapon statuses. And while it seemed like I was looking at them all for a minute, I found that only seconds had actually passed. Despite having all the sensor and battle info being relayed directly into my brain, the machine itself moved sluggishly. I thought for a moment about the sweltering summers back home and swimming when a kid; trying to move underwater.

I slowly maneuvered toward the hangar door and entered The Pit. I suddenly remembered the photo of Lily in my pocket. I marveled that the neurohelmet automatically understood that I meant to reach with my actual arms in to my pocket and the Mech’s arms stayed steady. I removed the photo and fastened it between the cockpit glass and frame.

The concrete wall beside me exploded into shrapnel, bits of refuse ticking and tapping on the cockpit. I barely had time to see Manes across the field before the computer's placid female voice broke into an audible warning, “Incoming missiles.”

A swarm of projectiles streaked toward me leaving wispy trails of smoke. Intuitively, I made a run for the nearest cover. A pile of wrecked rotary aircraft made a hasty shelter as the impacting missiles thundered around me.

“This ammo ain’t cheap but I think this will be worth every penny,” cackled Manes. “Come on out and show me what that Hunchback can do.”

For a moment I had a sensor lock. I fixed the Orion across a large dried riverbed. If I swung right, I could make it to the makeshift building. Manes blinked off my sensors and I stood my Mech up. I kicked in to the highest speed I could. Or rather, I began to run and the Mech followed suit. It felt like a slowly building sprint until I was soaring across the terrain toward the structure. I felt like a marathon runner without a hint of fatigue.

A sudden blast caught my left arm and spun my torso with it. Painlessly, my arm spiraled off and the computer droned calmly, “Left arm: destroyed. Medium laser: destroyed.” It started in on other components and I caught another glimpse of Manes, much closer now. Laserfire raked the walls behind me as I put the structure between us.

I could see why people might become a mercenary and live this way forever.

My back was to the wall and I panicked thinking of my next move. Far, far away, I saw that metallic glint again…

A hulking shadow rounded the corner and two beams of green laserfire burned into my armor. It was time to fire back. Recalling my half-tutorial, I attacked frantically with all my arsenal. The eight beams lanced out converging on the Orion's leg leaving a glowing molten wound. I regained my balance and fired off another emerald volley before Johhne returned fire with a rack of dumbfire missiles. His strike impacted on my left leg and sent me sprawling.

My eyes caught the photo of Lily looking back at me. It was a picture I took at our engagement party. Her dress had slipped off her shoulder a little and her dark curls swirled around it. She was holding a crystal glass with an olive on a toothpick and had flashed a brilliant smile. It was a famous smile and reminded me of how happy we saw our future together.

I might never see that smile again. A dizzying anger stood my warmachine and threw my 50-tons forward into the Orion. A deafening crash sounded and we tumbled back against the concrete perimeter. The top most section slowly began to sway. I attempted to stand the Hunchback again.

Manes arose in the Orion and the wall behind him began to fall in sections.

"You son of a *****!” he screamed across the radio. His fury manifested in a volley of light and munitions that blasted through the remainder of my Mech’s left side...and then his Mech shrugged slowly and blinked off my radar.

The moment almost passed before I realized he had overheated the Mech. The Orion was beginning its restart sequence when I had the epiphany to take aim at the exposed leg. Another full barrage burned through the Orion’s right leg and it buckled. Manes caught himself for a moment before his ammunition exploded up into his torso in a chain reaction that then blasted sideways through his center mass. The triangular cockpit of the Mech flung open and I saw Manes eject. His curses disappeared into static as the Orion’s reactor exploded filling the air with artificial electron belts. The blast shoved me to the ground several meters away.

My heavy breathing echoed in the helmet and the world was silent for a moment. I carefully stood the Hunchback and saw a gaping hole in the perimeter.

Klaxons sounded in the distance. I kept stealing glances at Lily as I made my way across the terrain toward a large mountain pass ahead. It didn't take long for the pirates to scramble their forces. Laserfire began flashing past me. At any moment I expected to take a fatal blow to the back from one of the heavy defense turrets that were undoubtedly spooling up. I suddenly had the bright idea that I’d rather lose my right arm than die and began twisting at the waist to present my arm to the oncoming fire.

Suddenly, a blue bolt flashed out from a rocky outcropping several hundred meters to the front. The ground near my feet erupted and the electronics in my helmet crackled and the HUD briefly faded from the near hit. Rocky debris plinked across my cockpit glass.

I felt some sort of new connection through my Mech’s sensors. A network added and suddenly a glowing shaft of light appeared on the HUD, positioned several meters behind the stony fortress. Through the rocks ahead I could suddenly see the designations of several Mechs boxed on the HUD with blue. Marik forces.
“Follow that waypoint,” the voice commanded.

As I approached, friendly Mech’s rocketed to the top of the outcrop in front of me and sent another enfilade of blue bolts crackling overhead at targets behind me. As I rounded a pass, I saw a huge transport ship and nearly a dozen massive Mechs standing watch.

In the month that followed, sergeant Razum Korova diagnosed my malnutrition, gave me a regimen of vitamins, and assigned me to corporal Madri Annushka for physical training. We made laps around the base of the company’s Union-class dropship. Annushka runs marathons when he’s not punching 85,000-C-Bill-holes in enemy Mechs with his Hunchback’s autocannon 20. He seemed to approve of the Mech I rode in on.

In the meantime, the Marik strikeforce periodically sent out scouting and raiding missions to corral the pirates in their base while reading and weakening their defenses. Soon the company commander, captain Billens, felt confident in their plan to assault the pirate base and rescue the rest of their men. I was invited along.

As I entered the hangar, I saw the Hunchback standing tall. It still resembled the patchwork project of some maniacal mechanic but it had all its armor and a fresh coat of paint.

Our machines thundered out of the dropship in the golden setting sun. We would be moving out to the pirate base, arriving just after night had fallen.

“All right, MechWarriors,” the radio keyed to life with Billens’ muffled voice. “You know the drill. Just like in the mission sims...I want my scouts out to delta-four, sweep echo-four, then head to the right flank. Keep your eyes peeled. They may have a small force but in a swarm they will do some serious damage."

Mic off; mic on.

“We’re all coming back from this.”

The Marik forces began moving forward up the valley and I took my first steps forward with them. The company commander chimed in on my 1-to-1 direct channel…

“Stick close to me, rook. You’ll get your revenge but we run a tight ship here. And what’d did you pick as a callsign again?”

I stole a quick glance at the photo on my cockpit glass. It was obvious.

Leftenant Leaman wondered about the name of the woman clinging to the fractured canopy of his Hunchback’s cockpit.

It seemed like an idiotic thing to ponder, really. She would be dead soon. Shot. Maybe. Her blood dribbled thick down the spider-webbed creases, staining them a deep crimson. Somehow she had managed to wedge her left hand into a split seam in the ferroglass. The sharp edges cut deep. Her fingers turned an odd, ugly shade of purple. The wound both kept her trapped and further added to the gleaming red wash coating the cockpit window.

The woman’s other hand clutched the hilt of her vibroblade. Not just any blade, but rather a sword. Complete with the curved edge so common to katanas. A beautiful piece of weapon-based art. A blade that had, moments before, effortlessly pierced the ferroglass cockpit window. Through the wiring of a radar screen harness. All the way through to Leaman’s thick cooling vest.

And into the soft flesh of his shoulder.

An agonized hiss escaped the Leftenant’s lips. He shoved the pain aside and looked past his would-be assassin. He focused instead on the holographically-projected heads-up display. The targeting reticle fell on the wounded, humanoid outline of an enemy Griffin shuffling away to cover. What was left of it, anyway. Half of its bulky shoulders were gone, replaced by a gushing smear of oily black smoke belching skyward. It staggered at half-speed with a noticeable hitch in its servo joints. Obvious engine damage.

Leaman’s finger tightened around the trigger. A surge of heat swelled underneath him and soaked the tight cockpit in a sweltering embrace. A heartbeat later, twin beams of cohesive light erupted from either fist-like extension at the end of his Hunchback’s downwardly-curved arms.

The Griffin twisted hard to one side. More molten armor spilled off his chest and wounded shoulder. Leaman saw the tell-tale burp of more smoke, followed by a hot spit of steam from the wreckage. A heat sink dying horribly. Leaman shifted his Hunchback’s posture, planting its feet, and let the massive autocannon on his right shoulder take care of the rest.

A burst of metal and flak. More smoke. The enemy ‘mech hung between steps for the longest time, spilling oil and molten armor like blood. Then it stopped moving entirely. Its posture sagged. Leaman saw the Griffin’s IR signature plummet rapidly.

Reactor death. The safeguards in its fusion engine killing the reaction process inside. For good.

Enemy down.

His Hunchback shuddered as Leaman brought it about. Each thundering footfall echoed loudly in his ears and rattled the vibroblade tip embedded in his shoulder. He glared at the stained blade. The katana’s mechanism must have been damaged. Otherwise, the microscopic vibrations that helped it pierce the cockpit canopy would have sliced completely through his shoulder like melted cheese.

A small blessing. Maybe.

Leaman wiggled in his harness and tried to worm the blade out of his flesh. A blast of white-hot pain lanced through his bones. The katana and the bulk of the cooling vest pinned him in place. Pointless. And agonizing.

Sure as hell did not feel like a blessing.

“Bloody Kurita *****…!” he snarled.

More blood ran across the spider-webbed ferroglass canopy. Her blood. The black stealth-suit she wore over her slender body smeared red across the slick surface with every loud, booming stomp the Hunchback took. Leaman glanced at her and found her eyes staring right back at him. She blinked rapidly as her focus slowly returned.

“Still alive, I see,” Leaman muttered in disapproval.

He thought he saw her nod.

Ima watashitachiha issho ni shinimasu

The Leftenant flinched, surprised. The soft voice echoed in his cockpit. He glanced to his right and saw a green flashing indicator. The hidden speakers mounted on his BattleMech were broadcasting his every word. Not only that, the external mic was still open, picking up sounds from outside.

Noises. Ambiance. Thundering footsteps.

Her voice.

He frowned. Japanese, obviously. “Sorry, lady. I don’t know what…”

The woman’s pretty face tightened into a snarl. Her grip on the sword hilt shifted. She twisted the end of the katana. Leaman screamed. The blade tip dug into the bones of his shoulder, ripping muscles and spilling hot wet down his back. He felt every nick and dig as the blade sought to sever more of his already-broken flesh.

The pressure suddenly eased, even if the pain remained.

Leaman opened his eyes. The woman’s face pressed limply against the canopy. Her chest rattled with labored breath. Her strength visibly faded. How she still managed to hold on to her sword was beyond Leaman’s comprehension. Sure, her other hand was wedged into the crack of the ferroglass canopy, keeping her trapped, but this woman still managed to grip that damned sword. How?

Leftenant Leaman wondered if these Yakuza assassins took their swords to the grave, in-hand.

“Raider Six?”

The voice buzzed in Leaman’s ear. He slapped the green indicator on his right console to shut off the broadcast mic.

“Raider Six, am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Is that a bug on your windshield there?”

A long pause. Leaman tried to distract himself by watching the flickering radar screen - the one damaged by that damned sword. But his gaze kept returning to the pale woman attached to his BattleMech’s face.

“Okay, Raider Six. Back to the dropship. See if the astechs can get that thing pried off your canopy.”

“Solid copy.” Leaman had to swallow his relief. “Raider Six inbound to base.”

Movement caught the Leftenant’s eye. The woman’s lips, specifically. Was she trying to speak? He trimmed the Hunchback’s course and pressed the broadcast switch again.

“Hey? Hey, you still with me out there?” he muttered.

Again her eyes fluttered. The woman licked at her lips. The color in her already pale face had drained. Red covered half of the front canopy sheath. Leaman dimmed his HUD and discovered just how ghastly-white her skin had grown.

“Come on, wake up,” he called. Leaman tried to lean forward to rap his knuckle against the canopy, but the katana insisted otherwise. He grunted in frustration. “Hey, lady? I’m taking you back to base to get help. Stay with me, okay?”

A very faint grin crept across the assassin’s face. She shook her head softly. It surprised Leaman just how pretty the woman’s smile could be.

A pretty face. On the woman that had tried to kill him. Still tried to kill him. Leaman shook his head. Idiot. He wondered if he should get his head examined or just blame it on the blood loss.

“How about you tell me your name?” He made an adjustment to the Hunchback’s course to keep it on soft earth. Hopefully that eased the rattling footfalls. “You tried to kill me, here. Heck of a first date. You should at least tell me your name.”

A tired roll of the woman’s eyes. “You are…,” she started. Paused. Licked at her lips again. “Fool.”

The Leftenant nodded. “Oh, you have no idea. But that doesn’t mean I…”

A buzzer. Leaman shut up and dialed the HUD back to full. Then he cursed.

“Hang on!” he cried, then cut the Hunchback to the left.

The entire frame of the BattleMech rattled violently. Leaman heard the rending groan of armor casts shattering and peeling away from the oversized, namesake hunch on his ‘mech’s shoulder. Autocannon rounds peppered the right side of the fifty-tonner, sheering away what protection it had left.

A scream echoed through his cockpit. A high-pitched, horrified shriek. Leaman caught her eyes. Her body swayed this way and that with Leaman’s every guided movement. Blood smeared everywhere. Still, her free hand clung to that sword. She stared at him in utter terror.

Pain lanced through Leaman’s shoulder. Her dangling about on the end of that katana tore his flesh apart. Every little movement her body made dug the blade against his bones. He felt something tear, and more blood ran down his side and back. A scream escaped his lips. The stench of copper flooded his nostrils.

More pounding against the hull. Leaman could hear the track of the rapid-fire autocannon shells trailing a ragged path across his ‘mech’s hunch and shoulder socket. Something popped and grinded, then died. Leaman saw an indicator on his HUD flash red. Frozen shoulder joint.

Wonderful.

Shielding this Kurita assassin from incoming fire would get him killed.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Leaman shifted his weight to the right, and his ‘mech followed suit. His path tore through a copse of scrawny trees that splintered underfoot. Pathetic cover. Autocannon rounds tore through the air around him. A few trunks split apart in a spray of splinters. He burst through the copse and twisted to his right, putting the enemy ‘mech directly in front.

The Leftenant tried to fire.

Nothing happened. His limp left hand stopped obeying his commands.

The enemy Blackjack aimed both arm-mounted barrels directly at his Hunchback. Leaman felt his opponent’s glare. His ears rang from the beating his ‘mech had taken, and Leaman imagined it to be the locking tone his enemy heard at that moment. He braced himself against his command couch and instinctively flinched away from the Blackjack’s guns, his instincts as a MechWarrior warning him of the inevitable incoming shot.

But the shot never came.

Could the enemy pilot see… her?

Leaman shifted his weight to the left. Twisted. He felt his left hand twitch. Pins and needles blossomed down the length of his arm. Leaman gripped the blade with his right hand and rattled it hard. The edge cut into his fingertips. A bloom of heat and pain spread through his left palm. Into his fingers.

“Come on!” Leaman screamed.

He smacked his fist against the side of the blade.

His fingers jerked. Good enough.

Leaman leaned toward the Blackjack. Thunder roared with every footfall as his BattleMech charged. Hot metal boomed from his shoulder-mounted hunch. Heat swelled from the fires beneath him as Leaman triggered all three lasers. He heard the wind, hum, clang as the autocannon cycled. Then his trigger finger pulled again. More fire exploded outward.

The Blackjack’s shoulder joint burst apart just as the enemy pilot tried to return fire. The autocannon bores flung shells wide. A lucky shot caught Leaman’s ‘mech in this hip, staggering him slightly. His answering shot caught the Blackjack across its scrawny armored torso. Sheaths of armor twisted and shattered, falling away from his enemy like crumpled paper.

More heat swelled. A trio of lasers cut into the enemy’s flank. A warning klaxon sounded. But Leaman slapped the override, and his autocannon barked again.

Twin blasts of superheated air erupted from the back of the Blackjack. The 45-ton metal husk took flight, up and away. The spindly ‘mech vaulted off toward a gathering of trees on dual plumes of smoke, leaving a raining trail of metal fragments in its wake. Lock lost, the Blackjack disappeared into the thicket for a moment before the Hunchback’s sensors picked it up again.

Retreating. Fast.

Leaman breathed a sigh of relief and let him go. He radioed its last-known to his lance. They could deal with it themselves.

He had other… issues.

The bright lights of his HUD faded. Leaman stared through the red-smeared canopy at his hitchhiker. Matted, dark hair covered her pale face. She hung there, unmoving. Crimson covered her chest. Stomach. Both legs. Skin. Her left shoulder looked dislocated, if not outright yanked from the socket.

Alive?

“Hey?” Leaman said. He glanced right to make sure the light was still green. “Hey, lady? Talk to me.”

A shudder. Leaman saw the fingers gripping the katana’s hilt twitch.

“Lady?” He guided the Hunchback around again and started toward the dropship once more. “Lady? Talk to me. Tell me your name?”

Leaman heard the woman give one last sigh. He thought he heard a word in that breath. Maybe her name. Maybe one last curse.

Then her hand fell from her sword.

---

She was, indeed, pretty.

“Jane Doe” laid quietly on the medical cot with a white blanket drawn securely up to her neck. Her face looked dotted with bright red cuts. A line of dark bruises ran along her right cheekbone where that pretty face had, time and again, smashed against his cockpit canopy. Every time his Hunchback took a step, probably.

Leaman stared at the woman’s left hand. Severed tendons. Cut bone. How her hand stayed together while wedged into the broken ferroglass canopy could only be explained by professions of minor miracles. Even still, those fingers might have to come off, soon. Doctors gave no promises.

But she would live.

Leftenant Leaman sat in a chair beside her cot and stared at her quiet form, trying to decide how he felt about that. His left arm hung in a sling. Surgery in his near-future, once the docs got him back to zero-G. If the nerves refused to heal, it might cost him his future in the cockpit of a ‘mech. Leaman glanced over his shoulder at the two security guards stationed close to this woman’s cot and wondered how they would feel if he pulled the pillow from underneath her pretty little head and pressed it against her face.

But after today, that almost felt like… like a waste.

A flinch. The woman gasped and woke with a start. Dark eyes shined bright as her mind struggled to put everything together. She tried to sit up, but discovered the straps across her chest and legs, binding her to the cot.

The tension slowly faded from her face. She eased her head back down and stared at Leaman with those dark irises. Her gaze flicked to his left shoulder, then back to meet his eyes.

“You?” she asked, motioning with her chin.

“Yeah,” Leaman said. He looked away. “Me.”

Again movement caught his eye. Her good hand - her sword hand - reached toward him. He made no move. She pressed her palm against his arm and gave a faint squeeze.

“Kameko,” she said. “My name. Kameko. And it is still my job to kill you.”

Leaman nodded. “I know.”

She closed her eyes and said nothing else. Her hand moved down his arm. Slender fingers found his warm palm. She squeezed. Not tight. Not enough strength in her weakened body to do that. But her grip held firm as her fingers interlaced with his.

Damn, if I had known about this thread sooner, I definitely would have written something up for submission; now I am just kicking myself, since being a writer for a living (travel/tourism freelancer), I missed out on a nice opportunity to share something new with everyone. :-(

I hope you will hold these more often, Bill mate!
(and if you do, give me a heads up :-p)

Not sure how to post it any other way like the others, but here is mine:

Per last will and testament the final hours of Leif Tanner's death, proudly facing the drongo of all House, the Davions, on the planet Corey. Although it was a close battle, Leif was finally overwhelmed by five Davions 'Mechs against his already smashed up Hunchback (Harumi) HBK04J. With only one large laser left and heat shutdown imminent, over-ride went into effect as two more shots from the large laser continued to score hits against a badly damaged Centurion and, as his last laser finally got sot out from under him as his torso got shredded, Leif knew it was the end. With the over-ride computer and critical damage indicator klaxons blaring all around the cockpit, deafening him, Leif felt his right leg buckle as an Panther added a PPC shot in relation to a Wolverine's auto cannon fire. With the heat build-up too much and the last of the LRMs stored in his right leg begin to cook off, causing the entire 'Mech to shudder violently and pitch into a forward fall that would either shatter the cockpit in contact or explode immediately as the artillery he called in seconds ago rained down their fire and destruction.
The Panther, its left arm completely blown away and limping badly on a right leg leaking 'Mech coolant at an alarming rate, swung around to cover its lance mates, as the Wolverine pushed itself away from a rock face, black smoke billowing from its many vents all along its chassis. Another 'Mech, a Shadow Hawk from another lance, hit its jump jets and scaled a rock face, its rear left torso now completely gone, its engine shielding all but visible.
But all of the enemy Davions survived, but the experience would prove invaluable for them in future battles. And Leif did not care. His thoughts lay elsewhere in his final moments. Of being back on his home world of Boardwalk, spending his childhood in the small farming community of Tara and wandering the bush land and streams surrounding the country side - his country side. Staring up at the clear stars on a warm Spring night by the water's edge, having already decided to be more than just a Servant in the Great Capellan Confederation, but a proud Citizen and at the rank of Assistant Force Leader, the journey ended.

(I felt an homage to the greatest game ever made was required. As such, here it is.)

Looking over the burning wreckage of a Jade Falcon Hellbringer, I grimaced at the realization that while I had won it was only just so. My right torso was completely stripped of armour and the internal structure was damaged. The CASE unit that housed my LRM ammo was damaged and I had lost all my heat sinks there as well. The only useful thing left there was the Endo-Steel skeleton and myomer muscles that held the right arm in place. I was considering asking command for permission to withdraw for refit when the decision was made for me.

“This is HQ to any available units. We have 'Mechs down at nav gamma. Bravo Cadet reports four Summoners on-site. Bandits are hostile. Repeat, bandits are hostile.”

Having just finished with nav delta I realized that I was only a few hundred meters from gamma. Quickly changing frequency to the command channel, I made my intentions clear to command. Even before I got through however, I had already set my nav computer for the most direct route to gamma.

“HQ, this is Alpha Assault. I'm on my way, bearing zero-two-five.”

Perhaps it was that they felt no further instruction was needed. Perhaps it was my intentional use of contractions. Either way the trashborn Star Colonel who was giving the orders did not respond. As if to make up for the silence, Betty piped in with an update of my route to nav gamma.

“ETA thirty four seconds.”

Just as I began rounding the final bend to my destination, my comms were punctuated by a rather panicky sounding mechwarrior.

“Alpha Assault, this is Bravo Cadet. I've got bandits all over me g-get down here.”

The boy was clearly not paying attention to his surroundings as I was in plain view for the second half of his request for aid. His cockpit even looking straight at me when his torso scanned from left to right.

“Sit tight Bravo 3, I've got visual.”

Some of his training clearly stuck though as my impromptu star-mate began explaining his current combat readiness. Or lack-there-of in this case.

I was about to order him to begin withdrawing while I covered him but again I was preempted as both my eyes saw a shadow move behind a stone pillar and Betty announced what I had already guessed.

“Enemy detected”

As if to hammer the point home in the most redundant way possible, Bravo Cadet decided that he too needed to warn me of the danger.

“Reading two of 'em, beyond the rise”

Part of me wanted to ask him if he knew that a Summoner was directly behind him or if he was simply taking the piss. Deciding that it was simply easier to deal with the threat then get out of here, I held the sarcasm out of my response.

“Roger, I've got 'em.”

Tracking the Summoner was as easy as looking up as the 'mech leapt into the air. Weather the warrior intended to simply avoid my weapons or actually land on the hapless Cadet was never known. It was at the apex of his jump that my cross hair finally tracked over the center of the 'mech. Betty, helpful as always, was kind enough to let me know that I had achieved a solid lock.

With the finality of a hangman pulling a lever, I squeezed the firing stub letting loose a storm of man made lightning in the form of two PPC's. Instantly, my cockpit was flooded with blistering heat as my remaining heatsinks struggled to compensate for the two powerful energy weapons. The heat was so intense that I began panting much like my Clan's namesake. Refusing to succumb to the intense discomfort, I watched as the energized particles slammed into the Summoner. The result was spectacular as the energy found its way into already exposed wounds along the left torso, licking at the inner components. That was all it took for the stored ammo for the LRM to touch off. In a brilliant flash of light and flame the 'mech vanished from existence. Only parts raining from the sky bearing witness to its passing.

Taking my first full breath since the Falcon warrior appeared, I realized something was very wrong. My lungs burned from the heat that still permeated my cockpit. Even with half my heatsinks gone it should still have started to dissipate by now.

“It's got a lock on me! It's got a lock on...”

I was not given the time to dwell on the issue as the panic stricken voice boomed through the comms. I watched, unable to do anything as LRM's streaked past my cockpit and tore into the side of Bravo-Three. The effect was instant and eerily similar to my fight with the Summoner as the missiles exploded inside the crippled Timberwolf. Fire blossomed from the stricken 'mech as heatsinks were destroyed and ammo cooked off. Finally the seventy five ton 'mech shuddered and slumped to the ground.

Following the propellant trail left by the missiles to their source, I found myself staring at yet another Summoner. This one in much better shape. Bringing my seventy five ton Omnimech to bear, I marched toward the Falcon warrior in defiance of the inevitable. Betty, undaunted by the current situation once again provided me with the targeting data I would require for this last fight.

The heat was still impossible to fight with. This left me with only my machine guns as a final option against the Falcon heavy 'mech. Letting loose with both simultaneously, I watched with mounting worry as the rounds simply glanced off the still armoured 'mech. Worry turned to dread as the Summoner raised its arm mounted PPC in what it hoped to be a killing blow. As fate would have it though, my weapons finally found purchase in the thinner plates of the PPC's casing, shredding the delicate inner working of the energy weapon. With a shower of sparks and discharged energy the weapon blew out it's own housing and was left a slagged wreck. With my weapons finally wearing down the thicker armour on the torso, I pressed my advantage. Instead of simply bouncing, my bullets were now finding holes in the armour that they could begin tearing apart the inner structure.

Realizing that the situation was quickly falling out of their favour, the Falcon warrior began backing away, twisting his torso to spread the damage from my onslaught. “Warning. Ammunition levels, critical.” The warning failed to register in my mind as my opponent raised his left arm to fire the LB 10-X autocannon it housed there. As his 'mech was not looking at me the shot was blind so therefore went wide. Moments later he vanished behind a stone pillar. Surely welcoming the cover, if only for a moment.

I watched as the Summoner came out from the other side, turning to face me in surely was our final exchange. Lining up my weapons with the now open torso, I once again pressed the firing stubs.

Click-click... “Weapons depleted.” Quickly changing over to my PPC's, I finally realized the problem. When I had fired on the first 'mech, the PPC's shielding had been destroyed, along with the internal shielding of my reactor... All of my weapons were gone and my 'mech was moments away from catastrophic failure.

A feeling of utter hopelessness enveloped me as the realization that I was going to die set in. Oddly, it did not last. The heat didn't seem as uncomfortable and the fear and exhaustion I had felt seemed to vanish with the realization that this was the end.

“Alpha Assault, this is HQ. What is your situation?” I couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the ironic timing. Not even bothering to answer, I watched as the Summoner leveled his autocannon at me. Closing my eyes, I never even knew he fired.

Tamara Cole cursed under her breath as the Clan PPC caught her Griffin on the left shoulder ‘another one of those and I’ll lose a launcher’ she thought to herself, twisting the ‘Mechs torso and angling to a stand of trees. The battle had been raging for over an hour now and showed no sign of abating, the Wolf’s wanted this world and it seemed there was little The Corp could do to stop them. Only two months previous the planet had been so far from the frontlines with the invading Clans that it was laughable to conceive of a full Galaxy of OmniMech’s assaulting it.

“Yeah and ComStar was a peaceful organisation, with no Armies hidden up their sleevies” Tamara spoke aloud “Say again Six?” came a reply over the tactical channel “I said where’s the ComGuard when you need them?” she replied, trying to cover her faux pas. “Well the last any of us heard, they were licking their wounds on Ingress. Not much left of them once the Clans were done but you’d think they would still try and help.” Came another voice over the channel but this one Tamara didn’t recognise. The loss of Terra to the Clans after the Battle of Tukayyid had gutted ComStar as surely as the battle itself had almost destroyed their military arm; the ComGuard. A month long battle on the little known farming planet had pitted one hundred and forty four Regiments of the ComGuard against twenty five Galaxies of Clan warriors, the largest single battle the Inner Sphere had ever seen.

Since then the Clans had swept through all defensive lines and now threatened the Federated Suns, Tamara’s Unit, The Corp, had turned into a hodgepodge of solo Warriors, demi-Companies and Lances from over a dozen different commands and nations. The Clan juggernaut had sundered most lanes of travel from one side of the Inner Sphere to the other without extensive detours via circuitous routes. Even then the occasional raid from one House sponsored Unit or Mercenary group flared up and made cross border travel a logistical nightmare. So stranded Warriors or small Units merged together with the age old premise of safety in numbers but all it seemed to do was draw the attention and wraith of the Clans.

Tamara cursed the ComGuard, ComStar and the Clans in one long expletive filled tirade, remembering to turn off her mic pickup beforehand, then switched it back on and called to the 2IC of the short Company around her position “Gunderson get us some air support, we’re pushing to the foothills and we’re going to punch a hole back to ours lines.”, “Roger that Six” Gunderson replied and went quiet for about sixty seconds, time enough for Tamara to take stock of her ‘Mech. The Griffin was showing massive losses of armour protection across the front left side torso and right leg, while one of the Medium class lasers on the right arm had been gutted. Before she could begin to worry too much about her lack of ammunition Gunderson’s voice came back over the tactical frequency “I'm not sure what the Armoured Cav have left but it’ll be here in ten minutes, they promise to throw back the puppies enough to let us break out” Tamara sighed, at least they had a chance “Roger that Gunderson, all commands; be ready to push for the hills, form up in an echelon right and push hard. Focus on my primary, Heavies and Assaults first, stick together and keep moving”. The chorus of affirmatives buoyed her and she watched as the timer counted down to the air cover arriving, then the sky tore apart.

The screams of incoming artillery were drowned out by the crash and boom of the explosive warheads kicking dirt, shrapnel and ‘Mech armour into the air. One shell impacted directly through the cockpit of a hapless Blackjack Medium ‘Mech, the machine toppled to the ground with wisps of smoke trailing from the gutted head assembly. The tactical frequency became a mess of overlapping reports and panicked calls for help; Tamara tried desperately to figure out what direction to move her command, then they appeared.

Over a rise two kilometres away a full Trinary of Clan Wolf OmniMech’s stormed over the low hills and pressed toward Tamara’s position, fronted by a Star of deadly Daishi Assault class ‘Mechs. The distinctive glow of coil discharge from Gauss rifles heralded the arrival of a half dozen basketball sized, hypersonic metal slugs; the effects were devastating. A pair of ageing JagerMech Heavy ‘Mechs were caught by five of the incoming rounds, the first ‘Mech simply disintegrated as three of the slugs tore through the paper thin armour on the side torso and breached the physical shielding of the Fusion engine. The pilot attempted to bank the reactor but when the escaping heat began to cook off ammunition for the ‘Mechs triple UAC5 weaponry; she punched out just in time to escape the growing blossom of explosions ripping the ‘Mech apart from the inside. The second Jager took two rounds through the cockpit, an almost impossible shot at the range but the decapitated ‘Mech faltered mid step and toppled over; the sickening crunch of crushed armour broke Tamara from her shock induced stare “ All commands; break cover and retreat. Forget about getting to the foot hills, those Daishi’s will tear us apart; check your tactical map and rendezvous at grid reference Alpha-seven-six-niner. Confirm” a handful of voices called an acknowledgement and Tamara knew she wouldn't be hearing the missing voices again.

As she began to move her Griffin out of the treeline she caught movement in the sky to the West of the Clan formation, four AeroSpace fighters dove through the clouds and angled across their line of advance. Each fighter let loose with a PPC and followed up with a flurry of Medium class lasers as the ranges dwindled in the blink of an eye. Just as Tamara was breathing thanks to the four Armoured Cavalry pilots, another two Lances of Heavy fighters broke through the murky cloud ceiling at different angles and criss-crossed the now stalled Clan Wolf OmniMech’s. “Gunderson just how many ‘fighters did the Cav say they had left?” as she waited for the answer Tamara watched as a Ryoken OmniMech disappeared in a golden firestorm; the fusion reactor breaching its containment in spectacular fashion. Gunderson came back on the tactical frequency and she could tell from his tone that he was worried “Six, those aren't the Cav. They lost all three of their fighters to antiaircraft fire just after launching. We have no idea who they belong to but shouldn't we use their work to get ourselves out of here?”

Before she was able to reply a wailing, droning noise filled the airwaves and Tamara cried “What the hell is that?” but nothing seemed get past the tone and she noticed the cloud cover directly above the Clan Wolf formation begin to roil and bubble, the dark grey clouds then began to glow blue. She watched amazed as a trio of huge Excalibur DropShip’s emerged with cargo bay doors open, raining autocannon, laser and missile fire along with JumpJet equipped BattleMech’s on top of the Clanners. ‘Who in the hell are they?’ She thought to herself and then noticed an amber light flashing on the communications console, slapping the key to open a channel she herd the distinctive tones of a Scottish accent

“The Star League Defence Force sends its greetings an’ the Black Watch wid like tae offer oor assistance. Let’s throw these Clanners back tae where they came frae”

i know it might be two short...and prolly wont win lol but oh well here goes.

Midnight
Overlord dropship "The Crows Nest"

Red free floated out of the lift into the Nests Mech bays. Six years ago Red had been a tech working at Helion Mech depot. During one of his shifts he had just finished putting the final touchs on a refit pack on a 75 ton Orion battlemech,when the mech raid sirens went off. A lance of medium raider mechs had been spotted closing on the factory,probably looking to steal parts and componentry.

Red had jumped into the Orion and marched it out to face the raiders, as the local militia mechs were 20 minutes out. By the time the Militia arrived they found Red sitting on the foot of the badly damaged Orion, but all around him were the burning remains of the enemy mechs. It was at this time the mech jockey buzz grabbed hold of red, he quit his jump and joined up to a minor merc company,were he was a techno warrior responsible for alot of his units inventive loadouts.2 years later he was noticed and recruited by the The Crows.

"Hey Prop, we have finished the dock up to the Dropship Heavens Star. They have appropriated all the functions mechs in the command to be redistributed to less ravaged units, and left us a ship full of broken ones that maybe with a wish and a prayer we can salvage a company from."

Prop just grunted, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and the strain of his shattered command. "Also it looks like your hammer is scrapped, we could only use it for parts".

"So what's does the damage look like.?"
Red scratched his head,"Well your the only hunchie slotted pilot we got, so we should be able to get one of those up and running for you." Prop sighed and shook his head." Well atleast it's a ride"

Red reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to prop."also sealed orders were delivered to you"

Prop took the envelope and opened it." Alright red assemble everyone in the command room 15 minutes and we we disscuss what's happening."

15 minutes later the surviving warriors were gathered around the large command table with prop sitting at the lead." Ok folks I just received word from command, we are jumping back to Robinson,for rest and rearm. We are going to be brought up to full strength but in the mean time we are are going to help garrison the planet as command will be moving other Regimental Combat Teams forward."

Everyone sat in silence, for a house unit this was almost as bad as being told they were only good for garrisoning backwater worlds where they will be buried and forgotten ."Next for the time being,we are reasigning the unit in to one company.

Shaw will be heading up the Reserves with the few replacements we will be getting, now you have 5 days till we jump,I suggest you get to know your mechs.dismissed."

No one moved...all eyes turned to Prop, each persons eyes said it all. Everyone wondered if this was the end of their combat careers.

DUE TO SOME CONFUSION ABOUT EDITS, I HAVE CHANGED THE RULES TO ALLOW EDITS TO STORIES UNTIL THE DEADLINE EXPIRES ON SATURDAY AT 13:00 EST. ALL THOSE WHO HAVE POSTED STORIES SO FAR WILL BE INFORMED OF THIS CHANGE VIA PM.

EDITS MADE AFTER 13:00 EST ON SATURDAY 7/25/15 WILL RESULT IN DISQUALIFICATION.

I wrote this as if I was writing home to my parents within the Battletech universe. Telling them about my adventures and exploits during the Darkages. It was fun to write and I like this character writing the letter home.

I hope you have been getting my correspondence since I dropped out of N.I.A.S. I haven’t received any letters back and I hope you guys are still not upset at me. I know dad pulled a lot of strings to get me in there, and it was a great learning experience, but just not for me. The instructors were too hard and I broke. How is Angelica, I know she looked up to her big brother. She must think I am a failure too. Tell her not to worry.

I know last I wrote you I was working mining gigs on asteroids, but I received a piloting job. That should make you proud. I have been in this outfit named the Fire Cougars for about two months now. Yes; they are a mercenary group and we work out of Galatea so it is legit. I like it, we get paid ever week and I have been on four missions already. My lance-mates are all veterans of the Jyhad and I am the rookie. They do not let me forget it either. I even get to pilot a Hunchback. That is what Dad piloted, right?

The Fire Cougars are relatively new; so you and Dad might not have heard of them yet, but we have all the fixings of a regular merc group. I love riding the dropship down to planet side and the rush for a few seconds when my mech is free-falling. I do not want you to worry, I have only dropped hot once, and the rest were way out beyond perimeter defenses. The last mission was awesome, I thought we were dead to rights, but we pulled a win out of nowhere.

My lance-mates are fun guys. Their names are Cramer, Dylan, and Peter. I am not allowed to use their call signs, so for now those are the names I will be using. Cramer is a hot head and a risk taker. Dylan makes up for Cramer’s death wish by being overly cautious. Dylan is also the lance commander. They have known each other for a long time, but they do not talk about their past very often. Last is Peter, he is a jokester and he is my closest friend. He is around my age and we took to each other quickly.

It started like any other normal mission, a calm drop with expected resistance. I was in a new Hunchback, Cramer was in an old pre-Jyhad era Atlas, Dylan piloted an old but refurbished Raven for scouting, and Peter was in a Madcat that was retrofitted with sphere tech. We encountered resistance early when we stumbled upon some infantry and a couple of light hover tanks protecting a checkpoint that wasn’t on our maps. After that skirmish was takin care of we proceeded towards the objective, an old water treatment plant on a Draconis planet.

Cramer never listens, arrogant as always he begins to move up the hillside. Dylan updates our tactical maps with his from the scans. “Ambush!” he calls out. The snakes were waiting for us over the hill. Well I am sure dad has told you from his many war stories, you don’t just stop an Atlas once it’s in motion. Cramer’s Atlas crested over the hill and immediately started taking fire. Peter was moving in for a flank and Dylan was trying to avoid long range missile fire. Not knowing exactly what was on the other side I knew I could not let him be the only target up there.

I crested over the hill to his left and promptly see three medium mechs firing upon Cramer. I lined up a shot with my autocannon and nervously fired an alpha strike at this poor guy in a Wolverine luckily taking out his right arm from that dumb action. This guy was moving in to engage the Atlas and didn’t even see me. Now he was less of a threat to everyone without his weapon arm. I glanced across the hilltop to see what else we were up against. My cautiousness cost me, because I was now the target of a Catapult that was previously targeting Dylan.

Missiles reigned down upon me and there was no cover up here to hide behind. I also knew that I couldn’t leave Cramer up here engaging three abused but still functional mechs. While I tied up the enemy Hunchback in a firefight I took volley after volley of missile fire, severely damaging my autocannon and my left arm as I held it above my head to shield it from missiles. By the time Peter came out of the woods to surprise the Catapult, shutting him down rapidly; Cramer finished the blackjack off. The pilots and support staff quickly surrendered after that.

All and all, it was intense. Good thing they surrendered when they did; apparently they had two old Rommel tanks parked at the gates to the water treatment plant and PPC defensive turrets. Little did they know that we were close to surrender as well. Cramer’s Atlas couldn’t move anymore and only had an autocannon left. I only had a medium laser on my right arm remaining. Dylan might as well have been a pair of walking legs. The only thing we had going for us is the Madcat took no damage. Did I mention that Peter is extremely lucky?

Cramer still will not admit that it was a stupid move but he has to be regretting it at some level. Maybe he is just that hard headed. I even got a recommendation of valor from my commanding officer that was watching from a UAV. It isn’t a medal or anything, just recognition. Better than a swift kick in the ass, like dad always said. I hope you guys proud of me now. I get leave at Christmas and was hoping I could come home this year. Please write me back, not being able to talk through the H.P.G. sucks and I don’t even know if you are getting these letters.

The Clan Warship NightWarrior, a Carrack-class transport, materialized into being sending out a cascade of neutrinos in every direction. The 300,000 ton vessel was over 300 meters long and 100 meters at its widest, studded with windows, sensors and weapon ports. The NightWarrior was painted in a light gray that reflected The Rock systems yellow sun brightly off her hull. There was a huge Clan Wolf symbol painted on both sides of the majestic ship that appeared a bright blood red in the starlight. Dozens of tiny diamonds of light sparkled from hundreds of porthole and window spread out along both flanks of the vessel. With a crew of one-hundred-sixty-five and almost that many passengers and over 70,000 tons of cargo, the NightWarrior was crowded. With the protective armor cover fully retracted the sunlight beamed through the huge twenty foot tall bridge windows bathing the bridge in yellow light. The bridge had two stories of rows of the many stations and sub stations along the back wall facing forwards. A stairs and catwalk crossed in front of the massive bridge window, it had a railing for quick weightless travel from one side of the rows top tier to the other. There was a large round, raised platform in the center of the huge bridge. It was the ships main halo-hpg platform, used for real-time communication with the rest of Clan wolf. Behind that was a large halo-table use for strategic and tactical planning, the ships three primary officers were all standing around the table.
There was a three-dimensional representation of the star system currently being displayed and the officers were talking and pointing out spots in the system. A communications officer called out," Sir I have Wolf System Control on comms they are ready to upload our in system navigation plot."
"Very well", replied the captain as he turned away from the halo-table, "Navigation prepare to receive upload."
"Sir Navigation ready", came the instant reply.
" Comms signal Wolf System control that we are ready, Navigation once you have the upload confirm our course then program the auto-systems and take us in system. Engineering section I want the solar sail deployed and both the Lithium-fusion batteries and the Kearny-Fuchida Drive fully recharged. We are in a Hostile space people I want this ship ready for action at a moments notice." The last part was meant for the bridge as a whole.
" Sir," Communications spoke up again," I have a message from Wolf High Command for you."
The ships captain walked with a slight ripping sound from his Velcro-booties over to the Communication station.
Up on the right side of the catwalk floated two figures, Star Colonel Greystoke stood with his mate Star Captain Ambush, Both lightly touching the toes of their Velcro-booties to the deck. Grey and Ambush had been reassigned to the Training Command and ordered to the Inner Sphere. Both had been silently watching The Rocks sun, It was the first Inner Sphere sun they had seen, and it was a moment they were sharing together. Many of the Clans felt about the Worlds of the Inner Sphere like how 20th century society felt about the Garden of Eden, It was a mythical sacred place. Greystoke reached up and wiped his eyes, for some reason they were leaking, he looked at his life long friend and she too had eyes that glistened. He smiled at her, looking back at the vista of stars," Just think all those suns are of the Inner Sphere. The worlds our ancestors fought to protect, the worlds the great father fought for, and that Nicholas Kerensky was born on."
"I know," She replied," and one of them is Terra."
Greystoke noticed the NightWarriors captain down below next to the ships communication station, the man motioned for Greystoke to come down.
"Stay here and enjoy the view I must see what our captain requires," Grey said as he let go of Ambushes shoulder and kicked off the floor. The Wolf warrior crossed the distance to the halo-table with expert zero-g precision. Flipping upright he landed next to the Man. He was a Star Captain so technically Greystoke outranked him but it was the Star Captains ship so Grey deferred to him.
The Captain leaned towards Grey and lowered his voice," We have received a distress signal from one of Wolfs HPG repeater stations core ward of OberonIV. Wolf Command has asked our charge status and combat readiness. We have the charge in our lithium-fusion batteries to make the jump, But the call is yours as this is a Combat Operation."
"Signal Wolf Command were are in rout and jump us as soon as the HPG navigation station is ready," Star Colonel Greystoke said without hesitation.
The Captain nodded and began barking out orders to his officers, the ship would quickly be prepared for combat. Grey kicked off of the deck and floated straight up, twisting so he faced his mate, She had been watching and was already inbound to his position floating with her arms out stretched in front of her. Grey let her float by and at the last minuet he grabbed her legs being pulled behind her and slowing her progress. The two slowed and slowly descended together to land in front of the bridge exit hatch. Star Colonel Greystoke sent Star Captain Ambush to prepare their Sibkin and Cadets for battle, while he stayed on the bridge, telling her he would join her shortly. Grey floated back to the Captains side.

As soon as the universe reformed around the NightWarriors Captain he began barking out orders," Helm engage pre-plotted orbital insertion course, Sensors scan for hostile vessels, Communications I want a line to the Repeater station open at all times."
"Sir," the sensor station officer spoke up urgently," I have two jumpships in orbit, They have detected us and are already furling their solar sails."
"Sir," this was the communications officer," we have coded communications between the ships and ground forces."
Greystoke was standing nearby the ships Star Captain listening and watching, the man turned to grey," You had better get to your dropship Star Colonel this might get bumpy." Star Colonel Greystoke smiled and shook the Star Captains hand before kicking off through the exit hatch. Star Colonel Greystoke and Star Captain Ambush were escorting a Trinary of new Sibs and Cadets to the Inner Sphere. Ready in their Battlemech drop cocoons snuggled in one of the two Union Class dropships locked into the NichtWarriors docking collars. On the upper mech deck was the Star Colonels mech, next was Star Captain Ambush, fretting in her cockpit wondering where Grey was. Then in place around the deck was Cadets, Cale Swift, 9Iceman9, and Ansolloc. On the deck below starting with three battlemech cocoon's around the middle dropship core was Cadets Arbeon Wolf, Gryphon and Hinz. And on the outside ring of mech cocoons was Sibkin Krymsin, Cypher, Caryle, Xaxanoulis, Kreatus Lucina and Varrus Meridius.
Back on the bridge the lights had been turned to red to reflect battlestations, the light made the Star Captain's grim features seem demonic. Both of the enemy Jumpships had begun accelerating up out of orbit in an obvious attempt to escape. One had turned and was heading away from the planet at a 90 degrees angle, its main drive sending a massive jet behind the ship. the other one was accelerating around the planet attempting to put it between the enemy jumpship and the NightWarrior.
"Sensors picking up several contacts lifting out of the atmosphere, Six in total. Sir, They are enemy leopard class dropships, they are attempting to reach the fleeing jumpships," the sensor officer reported.
"Weapons Officer you are free to fire on those ships as soon as you can," The captain said then turned back to the sensor officer," Are the jumpships slowing down for the dropships."
"Neg."
"Killer whale missiles away, Targeting Jumpships first sir," the weapons officer reported first, then." Second volley away targeting dropships."
The Carrack Class ship bucked twice as two volleys of the huge self propelled missiles were launched. The ship then began to shudder as the Navel Auto cannons and Navel ERPPC's opened fire at maximum range on the first enemy jumpship.
The bridge was quiet as the first jumpship continued to get larger in the main viewscreen, then bright spots began to blossom across the enemy ships flank.
"Direct hits with ACs ,Sir," then more explosions but they showed a tint of blue. " ERPPCs hits to, Sir."
Then the enemy ship seemed to shudder and both ends began to separate in the center, then a bright flash flared from the break destroying the ship.
" Killer Whale missile hit sir, enemy ship destroyed," the weapons officer echoed what everyone had seen.
The captain had moved over to stand next to the sensor officer who was leaning over his techs station.
"Will the dropships make it to the other jumpship," The Captain asked.
looking up at his commander the officer replied," The first one to lift off has taken and intercept course around the planet and he should make it, but as fast as he is accelerating he can not have a full load of battlemechs. The others have no chance now."
The tech said to both officers and pointed to the screen," Four of them have turned back towards the planet, one has changed course coming towards us now. The other three will make it into the atmosphere before our missiles reach them sir."
Then the Communications officer spoke up," we are receiving a surrender request from that ship Sir."
Smiling the Captain said, "Good send a heave to order to them with orbital coordinates so we can pick them up. Weapons officer, self destruct the second wave of missiles."
"Aye, Sir, message sent."
"Aye, Sir, missiles destroyed."
On the sensor screen the dropships dot of light winked out and its telemetry data simply read destroyed. " Humm," The Captain said to the sensor officer," They must of had a deadmans self-destruct. Any enemy message they received would destroy the craft.
"Helm put us into an intercept orbit for that fleeing jumpship, Docking control launch our Dropship, lets get our Trinary on the Ground. Six enemy Leapord Class dropships could mean as many as twenty-four enemy battlemechs. And signal Star Colonel Greystoke and inform him of his odds and wish him good hunting."

Twenty-Four hours later after a brutal ground campaign and the last enemy Jumpship in orbit was destroyed. Star Colonel Greystoke sat in his battered Timberwolf Omnimech, The old machine had served him well over the years. His mate Star Captain Ambush1 reminded him on more than one occasion he spent more time with his Timberwolf than his wife. Marriage was still an old Terran tradition the Clan trueborns still honored. The lowercasts had always used marriage and even still followed many different religions. The Founder of the Clan Nicholas Kerensky had never meant for marriage to be phased out of the trueborns life but in the early years of the Clans it seem that would be the case. However over the preceding decades trueborns began to revisit many older terran traditions along with creating many new ones of their own.
Looking around the dusty cockpit Grey noticed several new cracks along the bottom of the forward windshield.
"Humm, those are new," he said aloud. Greystoke often caught himself talking to the Omni as if it was alive.
" Well why shouldn't I treat you like your alive, Old Girl, You've saved my life more times than I can count," He told the machine.
The cockpit comm unit beeped then crackled something unintelligible. Frowning Grey hit the comm panel with his right fist, it buzzed static and then a clear voice came through.
"Star Colonel we have finished cleaning up the last of the stragglers, no bondsmen were taken. As we surmised they are committing suicide rather than being taken," Star Captain Ambush1 reported. " Cadets Caryle, Xaxanoulis, Kreatus Lucina , Varrus Meridius and myself are returning to the group."
"Aff, Star Captain, move instead to our dropships, we are almost done here and I want to get to Wolf command as quickly as possible," The Old Wolf warrior responded.

Greystoke and Ambush had only had a few moments of peace in the Inner Sphere before the never ending battles that marked a warriors life returned. They had been redirected to an unnamed system with a Wolf HPG repeater station. The stations main purpose was to pickup HPG traffic and boost it and redirect it to another station further along the Exodus Road, this insured almost instantaneous communication between the Clan Home Worlds and the occupation zones in the Inner Sphere.
Greystokes transport ship, a Carrack-class transport, named NightWarrior, Had been redirected to the system to stop an Inner Sphere units raid. The enemy had two jumpships in orbit and after two short space battles the Clan Warship had triumphed. Greystoke and Ambush had led a Trinary of Wolf Sibkin and cadets to the ground and defeated the enemy mechs trying to steal clan secrets. They had no unit markings and their mechs had been rigged to self destruct rather that being captured. Grey was tired and sore, he had spent the last twenty-four hours in his Timberwolf, leading the defense and then cleanup of the station. He was ready for a sonic shower and a long promised dinner with Ambush in the Inner Sphere.
Triggering his mechs Comm unit he selected, 'All unit', and bradcast to his Trinary.
"All mechs return to our Dropship and prepare to leave this station, We are done hear Wolves lets get into the Inner sphere and join the push to Terra."
A string of 'Seyla's' came across the channel as his Sibkin and Cadets moved to obey.

He grew up learning about piloting basics, and dreamt about piloting every night.
He was both courageous and brave when in battle, and earned his very first “gold” medal on Academy’s trainings. Engraved with brown letters, it read “Best promise trainee”
He saved his medal, and kept it forever. He always mentioned it gave him luck.
When the opportunity called, he struggled to make it, and finally was enrolled as a side wing of the Marshall of Fifth Company, were he fought for five months.
But demise had made his own side wing, and thus, on a rainy day of patrolling, his entire company was caught unprepared after a long battle, and was nearly annihilated. He was the only survivor.
After losing the assigned ‘Mech (a custom painted Jenner JR7-D) Mark had to be in the hospital for long 6 months.
His dreams were already broken, but not as much as his soul, wishing to come back to war, while the entire planet was taken down by Kuritas expeditions – over and over – until almost reaching his temporary hospital bedroom.
One of those days, he understood that will certainly be his last night at the hospital.The sudden BOOM explosion on the building next to the hospital woke him up.
Dust and ashes of the devastated building were still on the air when he saw it: a Laserboat Stalker was melting and destroying everything on his way.
He just HAD to act.
Rapidly he came out of his bed, and put some clothes on. After getting his “I am not dead – yet - ” labeled black jacket he move on and went down the stairs – unusually fast for a still recovering pilot – and got to the basement.
There, he climbed on his custom Jenner and took a few more seconds to activate the neurohelmet and plug the same into the cockpit of his machine.
Once there, he realized he has something else to do: he grabbed his “gold” training medal award and put it on his neck, and started the engine of the bird-like Battlemech.
Once the BattleMech was powered up, he knew this couldn’t be wrong, that he was again, one with his Jenner.
Checking his radar, he saw how the stalker was heading directly to the hospital power reactor…
This wasn’t a tactical or logical attack, the guy on that stalker was just killing at will.
Once the stalker was almost reaching the metallic fence (which circled the generator), the Jenner came out of nowhere, activating his four medium lasers and focusing on the stalker leg’s.
Pieces of ceramic armour were shattered, and the Stalker’s pilot was warned of the close range battle and that something was interfering with his objectives.
The Jenner acted fast and shoot his SRM-4 missiles towards the back of the stalker, and then proceed to look for the stalker’s back, as the Stalker pilot was moving only his torso, and leaving the legs still aiming the hospital’s power reactor.
The Jenner then, out of the range of the visual field of the Stalker pilot moved up to a side building and , knowing that the Stalker pilot was too slow to follow directly, skillfully maneuver past the building, hiding itself from plain sight.
Stalker pilot was mad, but was not a fool, he put reverse and stick his back to the building, and aim the 5 powerful long range lasers checking for his prey…
Mark, on board of his jenner, wait a little bit more, and put special attention on his radars and sensors, to try to anticipate the Stalker’s pilot maneuver, but he did not sensed anything..
This was odd, but could be a trick – Mark thought – and waited for a couple more seconds before noticing some movements on the sensors.
The Stalker was moving directly for the building where he had just passed by, and Mark knew this was his chance.
He moved rapidly and surrounded the building, like a small bird stalking his prey and moved fast from the Stalker possible appearance spot.
Then he appeared what the sensors indicated was the Stalker’s back, just to notice, with great horror, that the Stalker pilot was mad, but was still not a noob.
The Stalkers front lasers were aiming directly to him. Stalker was walking towards the build in reverse speed . Mark had to think fast and put his right torso while he was pushing the pedal to full speed. From the five lasers, 3 of them impacted the spot were we was standing just a second ago, while the two remaining laser burst were impacting the delicate armor of the right side of his Jenner.
Big pieces of ceramic armor were ripped off the Jenner’s right torso, and he knew something was incredibly bad, when he saw how the 2 medium lasers were disappearing from his console and arms system.
“Ouch…. Crap” – he throwed at the air while he pushed the 2 medium lasers and aimed at the same leg he had already stroke from behind the first attack…
More pieces of armor were ripped of the Stalkers leg and Mark was sure that, if he wanted to survive, he will need to hide before the next laser burst can hit him.
Then, a sudden idea hit his fully working brain, and made the jenner give a big round in front of the stalker, making the jenner do a zigzag move, like tempting the big assault Mech to finish him on his mere front.
The Stalker pilot fired again 2 of the 5 lasers right to the Jenner’s cockpit, now in front of him, less than 80 meters, but the lasers could not aim and hit the jenner, although making the big Assault mech shutdown like a tired boxing guy.
-“Heat management, baby, are you familiar with it?” – thought and smiled Mark as he passed by the legs of the powered down mech, and when passing his leg, discharged a new round of medium lasers on the already damaged stalker’s leg, making the myomere’s muscles tear apart.
Knowing that the Stalker would power up at any second, Mark used his SRM-4 to aim to the middle of the Stalker back, making the big assault mech shiver and tremble by the impact.
A new round of medium lasers appeared to woke up the big assault mech, but with his destroyed leg, the pilot, probably cursing the small jenner by now, was moving both torso and legs to face Mark’s jenner and give him just another round of lasers.
- “This guy must be crazy if he thinks I am going to stay there waiting for my dead..” –whispered Mark as he moved in a blink near the same route he had taken before …

But the stalker pilot did not finish the complete turn, and instead shot the upper building structure with his 5 long range lasers, where Mark was directing his jenner through, making a big piece of concrete collapse and fall from the top of the hospital side building to land into the small Jenner’s head.
The smash was brutal, and the glass in front of Mark’s jenner was crushed under the big pieces of concrete falling from the sky as the entire jenner body was shaking under such attack.
Mark was stunned for a couple of seconds and the jenner moved stumbling a couple of cars parked there, and finally fell like a near-to-dead bird near the feet of the Stalker.
-“Noooo ….” – shout Mark, while the big assault moved his head, apparently to aim him and give him the final blow…
-“No , no… this can’t be happening..”- thought Mark while he started to look at the big assault Mech.
However the Stalker did not shoot again. Smoke was pouring out from his both side torsi and the big assault guy was not moving.
Mark struggled to push every power button on the mech to make it work again, and suddenly the systems were again online, the Mech powered up, and Mark was able to make it stand.
His neurohelmet was somewhat damaged thou, and the legs were barely responding, and then Mark knew he had only one chance and one shot.
He gave the order to the Jenner, and the Mech crawled directly to the Stalker’s almost destroyed leg.
The sound of crushed ceramic armor, myomere muscles and metal was so strong, that the near building window glasses were shattered to pieces…
Mark saw the Stalker as it was crumbling down to crush the jenner and smiled – It was too late for him, however , his job was done.
“At least I was able to save them …” –was his last thought, while the big mole of the Assault mech was crushing down the Jenner.
…
When the soldiers were checking the hospital devastation, one of them mentioned to the Colonel:
“Sir, on this wing, several veterans from combat were still recovering when the Air Strike impacted the hospital”
“Oh men, I can’t just see this , at least do we have any survivors?” – replied the Colonel.
“… mm I don´t think so Colonel, nurses and doctors who survived declared that they just heard a big BOOM explosion and then everything collapsed, I don’t think the people inside have time to even woke up…”
As the Colonel moved around the hospital debris, something caught his attention: a golden Best promise trainee medal was semi buried near a destroyed and bloodied bed…

Included here for completeness but the forums ruined the formatting and sprayed tags all over it:
(now reformatted for readability)

Spoiler

Hula Girl

Another Day, another planet, another war, somebody else's battle but "the CBills were good".

It had been a tropical planet before war arrived, dense with lush succulents and almost comically overgrown trees, now... now it looked like everywhere else he could remember, a broken mudscape of craters and broken bodies, both metal and flesh. A landscape dotted with unseen threats, pockets of persistent nerve agent, high rad spots and unexploded munitions. A landscape he was intimately familiar with, partially his creation, partially his child.

The crackled and garbled orders that made it to his headset through the ecm were all too familiar, the voices all too unfamiliar, the war had been hard and the casualties high. No shortage of bright, young hopefuls to replace them though, all too willing to sacrifice their lives for a chance, a cbill, a lie.

"Copy that control, Bravo lance moving to charlie eight". His own voice, distant, an automatic response.

Bravo lance, that was a joke, just him remaining. His lancemates lay dead kilometers behind him. Two rookies, their light mechs smashed apart when they hesitated as a pair of Jaegermech flanked the position, the massed autocannons tearing jagged holes through endosteel stanchions and ripping their legs from under them.

He wished he could remember their screams as the jaeger had moved in to finish the job, the rookies too new to fully realise what kind of war it had been, still expecting mercy or some kind of code of battle. But no, they were lost amongst the chorus of all the others accumulated over the long years, their humanity washed away in a choir that sang to him of his own inhumanity.

The rookies live's had bought he and Mule the time they needed to reposition. Mule had been the last familiar face in the conflict for him veteran of many campaigns and many more drinks together afterwards.

They'd found cover in what would have been a copse of the massive trees, now a cluster of titanic scorched logs, not much, but enough to work with. Mule using his Wolverines speed, had ducked in and out of cover, repositioning subtly and often, the bright blue beams had made the Jaegers armour glow a dull red and filled the air with metallic steam.

They had both known the plan, Mule would distract while he moved around to bring his Cataphract's rotary autocannon to bear. Simple to execute and, with sufficient cover, difficult to predict exactly where the attack will come from. His only consideration was time, sooner or later the Jaegers would pin Mule down, the lone Wolverine would be unable to stand against either of them in a direct confrontation.

Disaster had struck as the he had cut between two halves of a fallen tree, the mech had lurched to the right as a thin covering of mud obscuring a cluster of thinner branches that could not hope to support his mech's 70 ton weight had given way. His mech's right foot had not dropped far, but far enough to wedge his foot under the massive log.

* * *

"Problem Mule, going to be 30 seconds longer"
Servo's howl as he wrestles with reluctant controls.

"Hurry chief, running out of room real fast here"
He twists his mech’s torso to face the trapped foot and the rotary autocannon begins to spin up.

"I mean it man, they’re right on top of me!"
Fat chunks of wood explode off the log as the autocannon chews through it.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Red dots converge on blue on his mechs display. His mech rounds the last fallen tree.

"Keep it together Mule, focus fire, Jaeger Alpha"
The first Jaeger comes into view, its firing towards Mules position, the Pilot squeezes the master trigger with desperate hate.

"Can't see for s**t!"
The Cataphract's lasers and autocannon shred fist sized chunks of ceramic's from the Jaeger while Mule's lasers spew wildly in the background, Streak missiles fire seconds later as they lock, punching into the already smoking holes.

"I've got this one Mule, just avoid the other"
He stamps hard on the accelerator pedal, lowers the Cataphracts shoulder and smashes into the beleaguered Jaeger knocking it a full twenty feet backwards. It crashes to the floor belching smoke and wracked with secondary explosions as its ammunition begins to cook off, rapidly becoming a funeral pyre.

"..."
He rounds his mech to the left, feet and torso twisting in unison to finally get sight of Mule and the other enemy mech. Mule's mech ragged and steaming between the Pilot and the Jaeger, just 50 meters between them, the wolverines twisted arms lying on the ground either side of it, shut down. Enemy Jaeger raining shots into its legs.

"...icked a bad place to overheat"
A brief surge of relief and excitement as the Pilot realises Mule's mech is back up and running, the Cataphract finally passes the Wolverine and opens fire on the Jaeger.

"No such thing as a good one buddy"
He can't help but reply to Mule with the counterpoint to one of their favourite combat expressions, it reminds him that they've been in worst spots than this. The same lethal burst of autocannon slugs, high energy lasers and missiles illuminates the enemy mech but it refuses to switch targets, continuing to spit its contempt into the stationary Wolverine’s legs.

"Shiiiiii......"
The debilitating cannonade from the Jaeger finally takes it toll on Mule's mech, it comes apart at the waist in a welter of sparks and screaming metal. He shuts the sight out of his mind and focuses on the target in front of him, aiming just inside its shoulder, where he sees the most damage.

"Hang in there Mule, this fool's about to fail his XL check "
The lasers recycle as the Jaeger begins twisting to engage him. Megajoules of energy focused into white hot beams punch into the Jaegers shoulder erupting from the back in corruscating bursts. Gouts of flame erupt from its shoulder and it grinds shudderingly to a halt.

"Power systems spread all through those things to save weight for the ammo"

"Now THAT really kicked like a Mule"
He laughed, remembering how Mule had got his handle, firing a 185 mil autocannon with a faulty recoil supressor. Glancing down he realises if the arms and legs were still attached he'd almost be in the same position he fell now.

"At least you live up to your name, I think the mech needs a new one"

"Hah! Yeah. Pretty Dancer's not really fitting anymore... Dirty legging bas**rds..."
He looks back to give the Jaegers pilot the coup de grace and his eyes lock on the prominently displayed middle finger pushed against its cockpit.

"This is for the rookies, fu**er
As the pilot glances at his weapon readouts he notices the frantically winking lights on his targeting display, coldly spelling out his rivals vengeance with machine precision.

"MULE! The reactor! Some kind of jury rig...."

Twisting away as he slams the mech into reverse he realises with horrifying clarity that there's nothing he can do to save Mule, his old friend is just too close, the Jaeger still laden with munitions.

The reactor pushes itself to its damaged limits before the small shaped charge on it detonates, air rushes in to fill the plasmas vacuum chamber. In the smoke of combat it gives the mech the appearance of taking a mighty inhalation before the air reaches several thousand degrees in under a second and violently expands.

The resulting overpressure wave shatters the reactor’s containment vessel and sprays plasma throughout the mechs internal structure, detonating shells, capacitors and fuel cells. The forces amplify and redouble until the Jaeger blows apart, becoming the shrapnel for its own retribution.

The blast shatters his mech's right arm, ripping it off below the elbow in the hail of half ton chunks of metal. Another smashing into the side of the cockpit buckling the frame and cracking the cockpit glass, allowing the stench of burnt oil tinged with the odour of cooking pork to drift into the compartment.

He forces himself to go back and check the Pretty Dancer's cockpit despite what he already knows in his heart. There is a brief moment of hope as he see's the cockpit intact but as he gets closer and peers through the glass he is met by Mule's glazed and unseeing eyes. He tries not to notice that the shockwave made him puke out his stomach, tries to keep a memory of his friend in better times.
He almost manages.

* * *

He comes back to his cockpit with a start, instinctively checks his instruments, verifies he is still on course. He ponders for a moment, it is unlike him to reflect like that until long after he leaves a combat zone; it’s one of the reasons he's still alive.

He realises that he's been watching his Hula Girl, a small ornamental figurine of a woman in a grass skirt that shimmies in time with the mechs motion. Pilots get them for all manner of reasons, sentimentality, luck, fashion. His is a reminder, an icon to caution, something he can’t let go of. He tells other people it’s to remind him to take some R&R before shifting the conversation elsewhere.
As he returns his view to the landscape he stops and looks back.

His hula girl just winked at him.

He stares intently at the little ornament, watches it swaying in its eternal dance, it reminds him of the beach he had got it from, back in what seemed like another life. As he gazes at it he almost fancies he can hear the sounds of a distant steel guitar drifting somewhere between audible and inaudible.

He remembers how beautiful the beach had been, mile after mile of fine white sand next to a crystal blue sea, long evenings and warm breezes. A carefree existence that he had wanted to last forever.

"Sure was fine there Sugarpie" A soft lilting accent, full of knowing promise.
He gawks as he realises the hula girl is speaking to him, it fills him with dread.

"I just simply don’t know why you left" Teasing now, almost giggling.

"Yes you do! NO! Wait! Shutup! You're just an ornament!" His voice is wild and full of panic

"I betcha sure would like a cool drink and a nice lie down on your favourite lounger right now sugarpie" Gentle, inviting.

He tries to drag his attention from the doll, but his vision swims, a thousand miles away another part of his brain is screaming at him but its warnings are lost in the fog of his mind. He is too tired, too weary of the constant horror to summon the will to remain in his cockpit, the hula girl appearing more and more lifelike by the second, guitar lullaby filling his mind.

He gasps as her visage brings back the memories, the party weekend after basic training, too many daquiris and way too many tequila chasers. They'd gone racing at midnight, bikes so powerful they were a danger to sober riders. She didn't stand a chance. He'd had to leave in a hurry, a rich girl on holiday from a powerful family, only choice to hide himself in the most dangerous parts of the galaxy with the most disreputable merc companies.

"Hush now sugarpie, everyone’s happy here, not a care in the world" Her voice purrs at him

"I... " Hesitant, unsure what is happening or where he wants to be

"All your friends are here too sugarpie, they simply can’t wait to see you" Mules face flashes across his mind, smiling and whole.

"H... How?..."

"Oh sugarpie, you know how, you just have to come join me...."

* * *

Delta lance closed on the stationary cataphract cautiously, alert for booby traps left by the opposing force. First to approach was the Raven, sleek body bristling with sensors, probing the mech for any signs of life.

"Rabbit here, everything checks out, seems clean, I'm too short to get a look into the cockpit though"

"Copy that Rabbit, coming in for a closer look" Captain Stanislaw Kavinsky guided his Grasshopper towards the battered Cataphract pulling to in a position that allowed him a good view of the pilot’s compartment from the lofty heights of his.
The pilot was supine in his seat, head lolling back, spray of red and gray behind it. His sidearm still in his mouth ballooning one of his cheeks out.

"Gas, absorbs through your skin, gets into your mind, plays on your fears. They reckon the newest ones can hang around for days"

"Copy that captain" Rabbits voice betrays that he wished he hadn't asked now.

"Decent salvage for us though, and look! The guy had a hula girl! Once it’s cleaned up it looks like you get an ornament after all" Stanislaw smiles to himself as he finds a way to distract Rabbits anxiety, that kid was too worried by half.

This is it. All those months of training, shooting those damned spheres... being heckled by my drill instructor. It seems like such a short time ago that I walked into the DCMS recruiter's office and signed up. Maybe my parents wouldn't have wanted me to. Maybe they'd have been proud. I'll never know.

"Sensors, online."

Fitting into a unit wasn't easy. First it was the 11th Ghost, then the 3rd Benjamin Regulars. We did a lot of practice runs in those days, but there was never any real danger. At least, as long as you kept Jones in front of you. Why, I remember back when my unit worked together with the NKVA, Arkab Legions, and Night's Scorn to take Kentares IV. There was plenty of celebration that night. And the women! They all wanted a piece of us, haha! But who wouldn't, after getting a personal commondation from Dear Coordinator himself! Man, those were the days.

But then the clans started to invade. They'd take our planets and we'd push back, but they always pushed harder. Their technology was like nothing I'd ever experienced before! You couldn't outrange them, and they'd melt your armor before you could get close enough to do any real damage. They relentlessly took system after system; nothing could stop them. They nearly took Benjamin, and with so many good Warriors from my unit MIA, I thought for sure nothing could stop them.

And then, Tukayyid happened.

Lots of folks fought for their homes, and those that could afford it hired mercs to flesh out their numbers. One unit of mercs, though, fought for free - for their love of the Combine. They launched round-the-clock strikes deep into the heart of the clan supply lines, crippling their reinforcements before they could arrive. I'd seen a lot of good Warriors in my short time, but these guys worked with a surgical precision I'd never seen before. I knew then I wanted to work alongside them, and here I am.

"Weapons, online."

The dropship is slowing now; I can hear the retro thrusters firing. Soon, a battle will begin. In this last moment of peace I take comfort in knowing that I'm surrounded by brothers, who will protect me as I protect them. Together, we will defend this cannon and drive the clan scum from this planet. As surely as the hula girl dances on my console, I will dance on the corpses of those who have dared to invade my home.

"Well? Did you get a sensor hit or not?" The man speaking ran his own eyes over the sensor tell-tales in a quick sweep while maintaining a scan of the visual pickups looking for anything that did not fit the surrounding terrain. The moons surface looked flat but close to the largest fissure on the dusty rock, the area was riddled with large erosion gullys big enough to hide a Mech or a squad of tanks.
"I wouldnt say it was a sensor hit, but my audio sweep spiked then dropped but I didn't hear anything" replied a cautious voice. "Ok. I'll head your way find some cover and maintain scanning," the pilots fingers deftly flicked a toggle while increasing the speed of his Shadow Cat to meet with the Puma of MechWarrior Ted 'Slimer' Chalk. While Eldridge 'Crash' Avery moves his Shadow Cat towards his Wingman, when the odd tingle that always preceded trouble, struck.
Just as Eldridge begins to speak, his sensors began providing him with details on what had just popped up on his Radar. 2 Myrmidons, a Vedette and a LRM Carrier were highlighted in red, as the blue dot representing Teds Puma began moving towards the patrol of Armour. Firing his large Laser at one of the Myrmidons, Eldridge spoke, "Sheep Central this is Patrol Bravo Lead, contact with a light armoured patrol near nav point Delta. We are engaging the patrol and will continue Sweep ASAP, Over." "Roger Patrol Beta. Try to get a ID and keep an eye on your sensors, as far as we knew this rock was uninhabited. There is a flight of AeroSpace fighters available for Support, Callsign "Butterfly", Over.", answered a not overly concerned female voice. "Roger Sheep Central, attempt Posit ID of Patrol and AeroSpace Support designated "Butterfly", Out".
He grunted "You heard Central Ted try to get a good visual of any distinguishable Markings, Over." "Roger tha..", a deafening screech drowns out the rest of his reply, as a PPC shot from a Myrmidon slams into the Cockpit of the Puma. The Mech, smoking and sparking from the blast, answers in kind with a ErPPC blast hitting the LRM Carrier. The living members of the LRM Carrier crew abandon the vehicle just as it explodes. The Vedette opens fire upon the still sparking Puma with its AC 5, doing more damage and causing the small Mech to rock with the hits. Reaching the range of his 3 Medium ErPlas, Avery fires upon the Myrmidon whose PPC had struck His wingmates Puma.
The Myrmidon that was hit by Avery's ErLrg Laser had sped up and began an erratic evasive maneuver that sent the Tank in between the Puma and Vedette as both Mech and tank opened fire. The Pumas PPC gimbaled the Myrmidons Turret while penetrating the cupola and the upper portion of the outer hull. The Vedettes AutoCannon fire hit the Tanks broadside, just as Avery's Shadow Cat's ErSml Laser and SSRM 6 impacted it, forever silencing the Vedette.
The Remaining Myrmidon fires its PPC striking the now air-borne Shadow Cat. "Slimer, scan and record those slag heaps. I'll finish this one", hissed Avery, "******* took out my MG's, over". Once again the Shadow Cats ErLrg Laser spoke, in concert with the 3 ErMed Plas, stopping the Tank as if hitting an invisible wall. "Roger Crash, Visual might not be worth a damn though, that 1st PPC blast did a number on my HUD," Speaking into the ComSet, Avery's AI switches to the Air Support channel, "Butterfly 1, Bravo Lead, request fly-by scan for contacts, my position over". With just a tearse "Roger, Bravo Lead!", Butterfly 1 answers.
"Crash, I cant make out any markings, maybe my recording will show something, but My HUD's so futzed all I have are shapes, Over."
"Ok Slimer sit tight till the fly boys do their pass.". The Aerofighters screamed in from three different points on the compass to get the most coverage of the Patrols area.
"Negative contact Bravo Lead,", the Aero Jock reports, "Any thing else you need, Over?", Avery replies blandly, "That's a Neg Butterfly Lead. That was the last waypoint for us. We'll deploy a Sensor Suite/WayPoint Marker here and head to the pickup point, thanks for the sweep. Bravo Lead, out!". The Aeroflight, in answer, does a wing waggle and heads into the distance continuing their own Patrol.

That was the meal I had eaten. Beans. I would have thought that the stories may have been true. People that know their last meal is their next have been given the choice of their favorite. That's what the books said at least. Not here, not this time, not now. I close my eyes and pretend it wasn't beans, but one of the many buffets at Solaris. I concentrate until I can almost taste it. That is until the drumming footfalls echo in the distance and I break my own spell.

My eyes open and I squeeze the control stick in my hand. I don't do anything but feel the pressure in my hand. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

Now all I have is the taste on my tongue of the starches left behind and the uneasiness in my stomach from those damned beans. The chill has begun to set in, they said it would. Not only the cold seeping into the darkened cockpit, but the dreaded loneliness I feel in my chest. I'm going to die alone out here on this frozen world and no one will know about it until some salvage crew pries my corpse from the wreckage in search of a quick cred. I hope when I go the damned engine blows. Then there won't be much left for anyone.

I can't use comms, that would give away my position. I can't start the engine to get some heat in here, that would give away everything else. What use is a sacrificial lamb if he's already met the butcher before the wolf has a chance to chase him?

I clasp my hands together and rub them against each other. I close my eyes and give a heated blow onto the digits, it helps, even if only a little. With my hands still together, I bring them to my lips and keep my eyes closed while I give a quick prayer. I don't really know to whom, just someone or something that might eventually be able to hear. To be honest, I don't care. In less than a few minutes, I'll be food for the worms. I only hope Laura will be safe. I can still taste her lips when I think about it. It's sure as hell better than the beans.

The reverberations in the distance bring me back. They are closer now, constantly on the move. I can feel the tremors in the battlemech's gyro's. I can even begin to pick out the individuals now. They said it would be two Stars. That's what they said the Clans called them, Stars. Five mechs per Star and double that. Each one capable of reigning their own specific array of death on me. A shiver works its way up my spine.

Thirty minutes. That's how much time Laura and the others said they needed before they could reach the Hyper Pulse Station. The Com guards promised that if we could make it, they'd help us in any way they could. I only hope they know what they are talking about. I told them I could give them three minutes, maybe five tops. I know the route I plan to take once I have their attention. Up the old cliff out passed Saunders Pass. If I can make it to the cliff, I may be able to take one or two of them with me, with a hefty injection of luck that is. They say luck favors the bold, I sure as hell hope that's true. Even I know that this Hermes isn't going to be able to take much more than a single hit, so we stripped out everything it had. I've only got a single short ranged laser left and the original flamer and that's only good enough to get their attention. But it can run, and that's what I intend to do with it.

Rocks in the cave above my head begin to break loose. I hold my breath as if they may be able to hear me if I did breathe. I can hear them, each individual one. Hundreds of tons of metal and it's marching over top of the old mine that I'm hidden inside of. Good thing I've never been claustrophobic or I'd be screaming bloody murder right about now.

My hand hovers over the ignition switch and I count backwards from ten. When I reach five I finally let out my breathe. How long was I holding that? The last mech has already passed overhead and I know, it's now or never. If the convoy is ever going to make it, I have to do this. I flip the switch and almost instantly I feel the hum and heat of the antique 270. It's old, older than I am by far and it takes a moment before I feel any response in the controls. But they are there, and it wants to run, I can feel it. That's what this baby was made to do. Flames of the gods stenciled onto the sides couldn't make this baby any faster.

The massive footfalls overhead haven't noticed me yet, at least they give no indication they have. I guess that's a good thing. I inch the Hermes into the moonlight and peer above me toward the edge of the valley wall. I can see the last of the hulking giants illuminated at the edge of the hilltop trees. It's back is turned as it continues onward toward the convoy that carries my family, friends and most of all, Laura. These clanners can't be allowed to take her. I've heard stories about what they do to hostages. The very thought of my beloved living the rest of her days as an indentured slave makes my blood begin to boil.

I take one last deep breathe and hover the sights over where I saw the last mech disappear into the woods.Without a second thought, I thumb the trigger and then immediately activate the flamer to light the trees above the hill and below alight. They are most certainly going to know I'm here but they are going to have a hell of a time finding me.

I have only begun to take the first of my many steps when the first mech pushes through the fire. I see a pulse of light and the Hermes shudders. Red lights illuminate the interior for a moment and the readout notifies me that the entire right arm has been stripped of everything, including the lone laser and my only hope of providing an offense, as meager as it was.

Two more of the lumbering beasts push through the fire and that is the last I stay to notice. The roar of the engine vibrates into the cockpit as I push the engine harder than it has done in my lifetime. With the wind at my back and the flamer pulsing to life with every step of the way, I send an open comms to any that will hear me.

"Catch me if you can Clanners. Tonight you lemmings are gonna ride the trail of fire with me straight to hell!"

A slight embellishment of some pseudo-actual shenanigans...from the other perspective.

Battlemech actuators, as with all mechanical systems, have limits. Engineers design the actuators to perform to specified limits. The manufacturers dutifully print those limits in the technical manuals distributed with each new ‘mech. War college professors and instructors, in-turn, drill these same printed limits into their cadets minds such that they are not questioned….never questioned.

This indoctrination, while necessary for continuity in military schools, can lead to unfortunate bouts of one-dimensional thought. After all, the difference between a good commander and a great one lies in one’s willingness to test limits…

The whump of a large chunk of slush on his cockpit glass jarred Corporal Darren Rogers out of his trance. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Rogers checked his sensors and location marker. His lance, on point for the rest of Able Company, had arrived at the edge of search grid G9, less than a klick away from where the satellite feed indicated the unidentified dropship had gone to ground.

“Able 1, this is Bird-Dog, we have reached the target grid. We show nothing on scope.” As he throttled back and awaited a reply, Rogers scanned the terrain. The former access road snaked up the steep incline in front of him, barely discernable under the snow. To his left, on top of a steep crag, he could make out the icicle-adorned remains of a Star League era communications array. To his right rose a sheer granite wall; part of a jagged ridgeline separating the valley he had just traversed from a large basin on the other side. That basin sheltered the derelict fire base in which Able Company anticipated finding their quarry.

The radio crackled, “Able Company, this is Able 1. We are in formation. Everyone weapons hot, the engagement zone will be grid Fox 10”. Rogers throttled-up his Orion, falling into formation as his lance’s Raven took point, bringing its advanced sensors to bear.

The plan was straightforward…most good ones are. Protected by a near-vertical ridge, the basin only provided two points of egress that didn’t involve walking off a 100-meter cliff. A recent avalanche had closed one of those. All Able Company had to do was use the last viable exit as a chokepoint and force the enemy to either sit, besieged, in the abandoned fire base or walk straight into a firing line.

Whump! Rogers jumped a bit as another, larger, chunk of slush slapped the Transpex and re-solidified as it slid down his viewplate.

“Why is there friggin’ slush?!” the corporal thought aloud. “It’s got to be negative 60 C out there!”

Hell, the only time he had ever seen anything resembling liquid water this far north was underneath a…..

His blood ran cold as his mind struggled to process the implications of that thought. He forced himself to pull back on the right ‘stick and started to look up towards the cliff face. His radio crackled again.

“Able 1, this is Bloodhound….I’ve got something on sens…”

The snow in front of Rogers’ Orion exploded, flash frosting his viewplate. Reflexively switching to thermal imaging as a string of expletives streamed over the now-open channel, Darren froze.

Bloodhound’s Raven had utterly ceased to exist, its mangled carcass crushed into the snow and barely recognizable. Avalanche? Rock Slide? No…That boulder is moving and it looks like a..

Before any of them could react, more massive gouts of snow and ice shot up around and among Able company’s now-scrambling ‘mechs as more assailants “splashed” in their midst. The Banshee had already managed to cut Roger’s Orion nearly in half with a withering hail of autocannon fire. That ‘mech’s onslaught was now joined by fusillade of missiles, lasers, and particle beams from every direction.

Within two minutes not a single ‘mech from Able Company remained functional. Coolant streamed down the slope through runnels in the snow packs, ‘mech limbs, shards of armor, and shell casings littered the otherwise pristine white floor of the valley. Reactor shutdown klaxons still blared from several fallen ‘mechs, and a large snow-melt swimming pool marked where one reactor’s safety measures had failed.

The Orion’s hulk lay on its back, half shaded by the cliffs as the sun set behind them.

“Impossible!” thought Corporal Rogers for the dozenth-or-so time, as he stared upwards towards the spider-webbed Transpex; status indicators illuminating the eerily-quiet cockpit like some number of hateful holiday lights.
All but one of those demon pilots managed to keep his ‘mech upright and moving after a 100 meter vertical drop. That should have destroyed the actuators. Everything he’d read at academy said that what just happened was impossible. Yet here he was, left arm numb, right ankle dislocated, lying on a frozen mountain in half of an Orion.

He tried again to reach his radio toggle.

Loosening his harness to get another inch, his fingertips just reached the toggle when the coms crackled for a final time. Rogers froze at the gravelly, accented voice…